


Lovers in the Long Grass

by Innin



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/F, Femslash, Femslash February, Fluff and Smut, PWP, Porn Battle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-25
Updated: 2015-02-25
Packaged: 2018-03-15 05:23:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3435104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Innin/pseuds/Innin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Having escaped Tirion to go wandering in the fields of Valinor, Aredhel and Elenwë do... anything but.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lovers in the Long Grass

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LiveOakWithMoss](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiveOakWithMoss/gifts).



_Lairelossë_ blooms shaken free from the trees were carpeting the summer-golden grass of the hidden grove Írissë and Elenwë had chosen for a campsite. Elenwë breathed in deeply of the fragrance and blinked her eyes open, still drowsy from the warmth of the day gliding over her bare skin. Next to her, nestled into the crook of her body with an arm flung across Elenwë’s soft stomach, Írissë was still asleep, with the dappled light through the branches scattering over her skin and the wild glory of her dark curls tousled through the grass.

Elenwë fought the impulse to kiss every single one of the golden spots of light setting Írissë agleam to wake her, and then repeat all the delicious things that had tired them out during the silver hours. They had done little but share pleasure with one another for the past several days, eating rations from their packs and drinking from a nearby stream, and sleeping when they needed rest - but Elenwë found herself more than happy at the prospect of continuing so indefinitely, and thanked whatever thread of fate had seen it fit to weave Írissë into her path. 

The truth of it was that everything about Írissë - her sense of adventure to match Elenwë’s own, the scent of her skin, her laughing eyes, her glorious mouth, made Elenwë ravenous with love, and it was reciprocated every bit as much, a fact that Elenwë counted herself doubly lucky for. 

She left a soft kiss on Írissë’s upper lip, smiling against her mouth when Írissë murmured something unintelligible, only half-awake but happy to return it. Her hand went up into Elenwë’s hair, fingers curling there and holding her in place. With a touch of Írissë’s exuberance, Elenwë found herself being thoroughly kissed and happily out of breath by the time Írissë withdrew and let her go. She was grinning like a cat, with her eyes half-closed against the light, and a high flush in her cheeks. 

“Good _morning_ ,” Írissë said with a laugh and a touch of her most sultry voice. “The best of mornings in recent memory.” 

Elenwë laughed softly and pillowed her head on Írissë’s shoulder, dotting kisses where she could reach. “I think yesterday may have been a contender for that. That was quite a unique way to wake.”

“Which part?” Írissë murmured. 

“The feather you found, I think,” Elenwë said with another soft laugh, turning her head to kiss Írissë, caressing her lips as she continued speaking, and shifted their bodies into closer contact as well, luxuriating for a moment in the feeling of Írissë’s light-warmed skin and the smoothness of the muscles shifting against her softer curves. “At least it was a memorable beginning.”

“I must think of something more memorable then, as long as we have the time,” Írissë laughed under her breath. “When we go back to --”

“Forbidden.” Elenwë kissed her deeply to forestall the words, until Írissë gasped against her lips. 

“Forbidden,” Elenwë repeated, relinquishing her. “We do not name the place, or speak about it, as long as it is out of sight. None of it exists. That was our agreement; that is the whole purpose of eloping together. And there are so many -” she paused to punctuate the words with another kiss, teeth nipping against Írissë’s lower lip, “- _so many_ -” things I would rather do with my mouth than speak of home.” 

“Then you should do so, perhaps,” Írissë said, now entirely salacious, rolling onto her stomach, her legs parting ever so slightly. Elenwë hummed in lazy appreciation and draped herself up, her body half-covering Írissë’s. She ran her fingers through Írissë’s curls, gathering the wild mass of hair into a loose braid and freeing the back of her neck where she bent to leave a kiss. 

“I love the warmth of you,” Írissë murmured. “Have I told you that before?”

“Hmm,” Elenwë replied. “But tell me again.” She kissed another spot, nuzzling against the point of Írissë’s ear and taking that between her parted lips so the warmth of her breath caressed the sensitive skin.

Half-turning her head, Írissë pressed a kiss to Elenwë’s collar-bone, then to the top of her breast where the first of the paler growth-lines in her golden skin began. “Gladly. I love the the warmth of you, and the gold of you.”

“The gold of me?” Elenwë murmured against the nape of Írissë’s neck, trailing her twitching lips downward. She couldn’t help the burble of laughter in her voice, but Írissë seemed not to mind, instead arching up into Elenwë’s caresses with a soft noise of appreciation.

“Your hair, your skin… you are radiant. A creature of Laurelin if I ever saw one,” she continued. “And...” and then he voice hitched when Elenwë swept a hand down the curve of her back, lingering on her hip. Elenwë smiled. “You like that, I know. And _what_ , my love?”

“And that is hardly all,” Írissë said. “I’m not a poet, but if I were - singing your praises before the Valar would not do you justice.”

Elenwë could not help it; she began to laugh in earnest, resting her forehead where her hand had been and muffling peals of laughter against Írissë’s thigh. “You would sing my praises before the Valar?” she mouthed, still laughing, but relishing the taste of salt on Írissë’s skin against her lips and tongue, and the flush of warmth and happiness.

“Hm-mh,” Írissë said, her voice uneven, not from laughter only. The muscles in her thigh tensed under Elenwë’s continuing, laughing ministrations, upward and inward toward the junction of Írissë’s thighs, in what she knew well was anticipation. 

She paused, darting her tongue between her lips and against Írissë’s folds, paused, and did it again. 

“Ah, what _would_ you sing? The way I ever fail to get enough of you? The way that you simply being yourself makes me _want_ \-- the way I delight in your smell, your taste, the way I make you buck against my mouth?”

Írissë whined, low and continuous in the back of her throat. 

“Tell me,” Elenwë said, followed by a long, sloppy, open-mouthed lick. Írissë beat a fist against the ground. Her hips lifted and she pushed herself against Elenwë’s mouth, warm and slick and for the moment beyond speech or banter. 

Elenwë lingered, willing herself with difficulty to not reciprocate, fill her mouth wholly with Írissë’s taste. 

She drew back and sat up.

Írissë gave a discontented moan, turning her dishevelled head to see what was happening. Her eyes were wide; a trickle of sweat was running down her spine, leaving a gleaming path where the light caught it. 

Elenwë wondered idly if their repeated love-making was what had made Írissë so surprisingly and delightfully sensitive, or if the particular type of banter they had shared deserved a place on the growing list of things that enticed her much more than their ordinary ways. Her obeisance spoke to it; for the moment she made no move to follow.

Elenwë hummed under her breath. “There was something that you meant to tell me,” she reminded Írissë, who pressed her forehead into the grass and groaned; the sound bordered on breathless laughter. 

“Elenwë, you’re impossible, _please_ …”

“Talk to me. What else would you sing my praises for?” Even so Elenwë could not, herself, mask the tremor in her voice. In truth Írissë’s begging did not leave her unaffected, and, never breaking eye contact with Írissë, she reached between her own legs to resolve the knot of desire that was already twisting tight in her stomach. 

Írissë made another frustrated noise, seeing Elenwë’s fingers push in, curl, reappear. But she lifted her eyes to Elenwë’s face instead, holding it there to perhaps catalogue the sighs and small noises that Elenwë made, commit them to memory. 

In response, Elenwë increased her stroking. Írissë’s eyes on her were impossibly alluring, the way her lips parted, the way she swallowed hard and flushed, hesitating to speak as though she was seeking to bring her thoughts into proper order. 

“Perhaps,” she managed, her voice thick with lust and laughter, “perhaps I should sing them of this… if I had a minstrel’s gift, that would be a sight to sing into being. Elenwë...” 

Warmth rose through Elenwë at the adoration in those words, and she reached her free hand out to Írissë. “ _We_ would make quite a sight. Not me alone, never without you. Come here.” 

Írissë grasped her hand and pulled herself up to kiss Elenwë soundly, still half-laughing against her lips. 

“Minx,” she said, kissing her again. Elenwë’s arms went around her. “Minx, and the very worst of them.” Írissë pushed against her shoulders with gentle pressure. “Why is it that I feel like I should reward you for leaving me so unsatisfied?” 

She did not wait for Elenwë to reply. Another push, and Elenwë, with a bright laugh of surprise, toppled back into their nest of grass and blooms. 

Írissë followed her down and pulled her close.

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to Anna for the beta.


End file.
